


INTO THE MORNING

by vanhunks



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanhunks/pseuds/vanhunks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the array is destroyed, Chakotay gives Kathryn an ultimatum. How does this eventually play out? This is part of a trilogy of stories, for those readers who want to refresh their reading of the first two. Story [INTO THE MORNING] appears at the end, naturally. That story has not been betaread, so do forgive typos and errors. </p><p>Paramount owns Janeway, Chakotay, Voyager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	INTO THE MORNING

**Author's Note:**

> This is a trilogy. It started with only the first story, "SUBMISSION". Later I added "DAY FOR NIGHT" and then finally "INTO THE MORNING". All three stories are here in one file.

* * *

**SUBMISSION**

"Give me one night."

His voice was soft, a hiss.

"And if I refuse?" Janeway asked, standing her ground against him.

"You'd make it easier on yourself if you complied."

She hated him. His ultimatum… She bristled; her anger flowed like thick lava inside her. They were seventy five years from home. She had lost key personnel and crew. She'd never make it home without the Maquis. Without him. He looked rugged, an animal ready to pounce and take what he wanted from her. He gave her little choice.

"You don't leave me many options."

"You have one, Janeway. One night in my bed."

Already she was aware of him. Too aware of him. She should feel trapped. She wanted to feel trapped, to feed her anger, her hatred. That way, she could write off the one night in his bed as a once only thing. Submit one night and get it over and done with.

He stood waiting. Her ready room walls were closing in on her. If she didn't fight him, he would destroy her. If she fought him, he would destroy her. His eyes were dark, brooding, victory growing in those dark depths. He wasn't going to budge. She had to submit or be taken by force. He was right. She didn't have many options.

"Fine. Just this one night," she relented.

"Good. Make it 2100."

*******

That night, at 2100 she stood inside his quarters. He gave her no time to think, to fight. He advanced on her, pulled her roughly against his hard chest. Hands held her cheek, made it impossible to move her head. She inhaled him. The smell invaded her senses. Then he pulled the pins from her hair. Before her hair had even cascaded down her back, Chakotay grabbed a clump and pulled her head back. Her neck lay exposed. He breathed heavily against her face.

"Tonight you're mine."

Angry tears filled her eyes.

"What choice do I have?"

"None."

Then he kissed her, his lips burning against her mouth all the while he carried her to his bed

She cried out his name in angry denial many times during the night as he conquered her body. Smouldering, heated, he claimed her, sent her over the edge. Her tears, angered as she bit into his flesh, were no longer the denial she screamed inside her head, but her shame at the way she responded to his mastery, his burning touches.

She fell asleep eventually, her mouth open against his neck, her body replete as it moulded to his. In the early hours of the morning she awoke to find him staring down at her, a crooked smile relieving his stern, rugged features. He caressed her hair, grazed her lips with his thumb. She had to go on duty. The two crews would join. She would make him her first officer.

"You won, Chakotay," she breathed.

The smile left his face. His hand left her hair, moved over her skin. She remembered the many times during the night those hands willed her into submission, how those hands made her skin tingle with electrifying ecstasy. She remembered her shame when he took her, how her body listened to him and not to her. Unexpectedly, against her will her body hungered for his glistening torso and hips that rode her hard and gentle and made her senses reel. Now his hands claimed their prize again, moved over her body, caressed her thighs so that she melted again into him, unable to deny what he wanted.

"Come to my bed tonight, Kathryn," he said softy, his voice brooking no protest from her. His fingers reached into her, fondling, stroking, penetrating, and her bosom began to heave and the air began to whoosh from her lungs making her breathing erratic, the passion flaring. With a sigh she slid on top of him, her eyes closing the moment he filled her to the hilt. "Tonight..." he breathed as he began to move against her. 

She knew, even as her mind screamed it shouldn't be so, that he made her taste heaven and that she wanted to taste it again and again. She climaxed, crying out as she he spilled into her. In craven need she allowed him to make the demand, knowing it was never going to be necessary. As she collapsed on top of him, she knew why he wanted just one night.

It was all he needed.

And so, during the day Janeway was the captain and Chakotay her first officer. They laughed together, mulled over duty rosters together, did ship-wide inspections together. Many times they butted heads over decisions made. The crew looked upon them as their leaders and placed their faith in the command team.

It was a situation that gratified her - the newly joined crew believing in them.

At 2100 on most nights Kathryn entered his quarters, her body already greedy for his touches. She complied to Chakotay's ministering hands and mouth and lips. They would strip one another's clothes, no more surprised at her naked aggression, or his roughness when he impaled her just inside the door of his cabin. At night Chakotay claimed her body in heat, steaming, smouldering coals she could no more deny.

They never spoke much. They never spoke of love or tenderness. He knew what he wanted. She knew how to give it. Sometimes he'd murmur her name in his sleep. Sometimes she'd cry that she hated him. But always, he made love to her, made her body sing. Sometimes when he collapsed against her, he cried out her name in wonder. She relished those small moments when she felt more the conqueror than the conquered.

One night, at the height of their passion, their bodies locked together as they rocked and climaxed, Kathryn cried out "I love you".

Chakotay knew then that her submission was complete.

 

**** 

END

 

**DAY FOR NIGHT**

She dreaded the nights now. Going off duty meant walking towards her quarters, every step filled with trepidation, knowing that the night would not belong to her, that soon after she'd measure her steps to _his_ quarters.

It ate at her, corroded every good sense, every benevolent thought towards him. There had been none to begin with, no niceties, no courtesies, just a hard bargaining that she lost. She had pitted her wits against him, tried everything to save herself and spare her crew, to journey seventy five years knowing that she'd explore all human possibilities to hasten their return home.

In the end, she lost.

In his quarters. In his bed. His lover by night, his captain by day.

By day not a glimmer, a sheen, a whisper of her unrestrained abandon in his arms, of his control, not of steel, but subtle malevolence clothed in dark leather and long boots. A look, just a look and all she could do was crawl into his bed and submit to his demands. By day they joked, sparred, played Velocity, held meetings. By day she could force her mind to suppress all images and memories of her nightly submission. She could be Captain Janeway, walk proudly down the corridors of her ship and spend a few minutes with a crewman here, an officer there. Her rank pips felt close to her skin, even through the fabric of her turtleneck and that gave her comfort that she was in command, and that he… that he had to bow to her decrees.

By day she could plot a course for home.

By night, her course home was plotted for her.

By night he owned her. After that first night, an invitation, the threat of malice veiled, her instinctive abhorrence to being his fuck slave, her equally instinctive denial swamped by the memory of his lips and hands on her body, warm, urgent, hard, soft, his deep penetration, her greed which up until then had been a dormant sensation all her life… All cruelly exposed by him. How he had known that she would comply to his request…?

By night she fought him, called him all manner of names, cursed the heavens while her body hungered for his cruel touches.

She had cried when her father died, when her fiancé died. She had cried when, a prisoner in a Cardassian stronghold, she had to listen how Owen Paris had been tortured.

From the moment Chakotay stood in her ready room, bargaining for the Maquis, she had refused to allow herself that luxury. It _was_ a luxury; it was also a tenacious hold on her control not to let him see how his submission of her got to her.

Kathryn closed her eyes remembering the night she finally let go, if only for a few terrible seconds, in the heat of her climax revealing her feelings for him. After that, she never let her guard down again, never once shed a tear even though her bitterness, her silent outrage caused her to want to cry out.

"You can hide, Kathryn, but you'll always come here…"

And she did. Most nights during the last five months. He turned her body into something that hungered constantly, a vessel that needed to be filled. Not once did he break. The aggressive face, the hard hands, the teeth that clawed her skin, the flesh that invaded her, the softness near the end of their fucking, remained. It was as if he fought too, to remain in control, to see her surrender to him. And sometimes, the smile which she couldn't, with the best will in the world, translate into something gentle, caring, and heaven knows, loving, was a smile of the conqueror.

In the early hours of the morning, sated from their harsh lovemaking, her outrage, curses, her unshed tears long dissolved to compliance, she looked forward to the new day, when she could be Captain Kathryn Janeway, master and commander of a Voyager crew.

 _I can't anymore_ was her wordless plea as she exited the turbolift and made her way to her quarters.

_No more…_

Inside her quarters, her eyes were dark with pain, knowing what she was about to do. She prepared herself something to eat. Her hands shook as she lifted her cup, the tea sweet and sticky, but warm as she drank. She had decided to remain in uniform on this night, with the distant thought that it might make Chakotay a little softer, less angry than he had been most nights they made love. It was a hopeless, vain thought that somehow, her response, her aching acquiescence to the inevitable lure of his body, his heated, urgent touches, the sudden entry into her body at times, the slow, at others the deliberate opening of her legs before he entered her in a long, single stroke, would change him.

_"You've won, Chakotay. I've lost my ship to you; my crew respect you. I've lost myself to you; I love you. But not this way…not this way.."_

Tears sprang to her eyes for the first time in months. She thought how she hated him and loved him at the same time, how he never once uttered any softness, never once, even at the height of his passion, let slip words like 'I love you', never called her name in a way that gave what he was doing to her body any meaning. What was he? What?

He was too angry, too intent on keeping her under him to care. Once when she told him she loved him, she remembered that night how her heart pained, how her senses died and how shame swamped her when he smiled a knowing smile. The smile of the conqueror.

_No more…_

Kathryn rose unsteadily from the table, her food half eaten, stumbling to her room. She looked at a picture of her parents on her bedstand. Her mother had worn a soft, pale blue dress and her father his dress uniform on that day for the renewal of their marriage vows just before he died.

_I let you down. A man has taken over my body and made it his. I have little control. I can't help myself. My body betrayed me and now my heart has betrayed me… Forgive me. I can't anymore…_

With trembling fingers she brushed over the smooth surface of the photograph, briefly resting on their warm smiles, their mutual love that had been so plain for all to see. A soft cry escaped her and jerkily she drew away from the picture.  

Her body felt light, shivering. A new anticipation took hold of her. Kathryn bit her lip trying to stem the growing nervousness. It was almost time to go. He always expected her just after she finished her meal.

_No more…_

Suddenly, her mind clear, she walked across the floor and stood in front of the replicator. While she gave it its command, visions of Voyager, of her crew, its shuttles, the worlds they visited came to her. She could hear Neelix's voice, hear Tom Paris as he teased B'Elanna, saw Tuvok, always so unsmiling, so terse, so logical… One by one each crewman and officer filled her vision, some smiling, others curious as they bent over their work, all of them kind, benevolent.

She loved them, her crew, her people.

 _His_ face remained in a scowl, as if he berated her on being late to his bed.

"I can't do this anymore, Chakotay," she whispered painfully as she lifted the glass with its soft green contents to her lips. "No human can endure what I endure. My body, my soul, my heart, my life needs reciprocation… I am empty. I am nothing. I cannot see the day anymore, for now my days are becoming blurred by the night's entreaties for kind words…"

A tear rolled down her cheek as she took a first sip, pulling her face as the sour-bitter flavour hit her nostrils.

_I am only human… I want my nights to reflect my days. I want my nights… O, God… Give me back my nights…"_

She felt her body go limp, light, floating. The sensation was pleasant. The muscles in her neck relaxed;  her head began to roll back. Very distantly she heard someone swearing, a voice that rose above the noise in her head.

"Kathryn! Kathryn!"

She stared with glazed eyes at the owner of the voice, at Chakotay, dressed like a Maquis. Why was there fire and water in his eyes? she wondered dazedly.

"No more, Chakotay… No more…" she murmured as she collapsed in his arms, the empty glass crashing to the floor..

******

END

 

**INTO THE MORNING**

 

It was not quite 2100, but the room was already dark.

It was unusual. He had been in her quarters many times, even in the deep of night. Then there'd always been some level of illumination. Right from inside the door of her lounge, there'd be a half shadow, muted light that gave the room a warmth, a luxuriance that belied the tension that always existed between them after hours . Now it was dark. 

Kathryn was supposed to come to his quarters. Most nights she arrived right on 2100, a compliant if unwilling participant in their collective lust. On those nights he'd witness, even enjoyed her expression - strained, pinched - her willingness to writhe underneath his body while he subjugated her to his demands. That submission was tempered only by her extreme hatred for what he was making her do. It was that hatred that fuelled him since the start of their journey home, since that first night when she'd spat angry vituperations at him while he triumphed over her body.

Lately she'd been detached, disconnected, not so much in the way she responded to his controlled sexual domination, but in the aftermath of their lovemaking. She'd always been quiet long afterwards until she drifted off to sleep. They never talked, not before, not after the act. Now her detachment was in her subconscious absence from him. Before, he could provoke her to express a verbal abhorrence of submitting to him, even endure the anger, the hatred because then he knew she felt something she directed at him.

He knew what was eating at her. Knew that whatever he made her do to respond to him, was without the tenderness, without the compassion, the loyalty, the care, the caress between two persons when they made love. It was empty, devoid of all feeling. That had begun to eat at him too, a belated if cowardly realisation of what he'd done to her.

That was not love.

He had wanted her, wanted her from that first instance when they'd stared at one another through viewscreens of their vessels and he'd wondered how on earth she knew his name. Even then he'd craved her, wanted her so badly. He'd instinctively known that getting and bedding Kathryn Janeway was going to be impossible, for already then he could sense the two things that would drive Janeway - duty and command. Whatever their respective positions were going to be on Voyager, he was always going to serve under her. His own experience of Federation laws taught him that an officer like Janeway was never going to tolerate fraternisation on board her ship. Voyager was her ship; she claimed ownership and rightly so. That left him with nothing except tokenism.

What was he going to be? A vassal, her subordinate, and, in a future where sex was a possibility, a eunuch. A lover without a sting. He'd visualized a future on the ship stretching before them and he'd seen his subservience to Janeway the second he defended her to B'Elanna. That was when he decided to fight Janeway with the only weapon he knew would bring her to her knees.

There was not going to be any other way of getting her except through an ultimatum. They could stay in the Delta Quadrant and beg, steal, borrow, fight their way home - they were used to fighting for survival and fighting dirty. But Voyager and Janeway gave him the perfect opportunity to bargain for his crew and for himself. Lie with him in his bed for one night and she'd have his crew with him as her first officer. Kathryn's eyes had flashed with fury and raging denial. She had little choice. That night had started her hatred and the conflicting emotions of anger and love. In exchange for his body, he gave her his association as executive  officer and his crew. She needed all hands.

She cursed him night after night in the throes of her orgasms. Then one night she cried out against his mouth that she loved him. That was the night he knew that he had won.

He had won. The regret in her eyes was almost instantaneous when he couldn't conceal the gleam of victory in his own.

He had won.

A hollow victory. Every single reason he had to get her in his bed and in his heart suddenly, miserably and utterly without honour. He'd fought dirty. Kathryn battled her own inbred sense of decorum, of heroism, of integrity and self-worth.

She had turned him into something evil. Not in the months of good friendship in front of their crew, not in the heat of their passion at night, but right at that moment he'd asked her, "How do you know my name?" She had brought out something demonic in him in those moments and he'd remained the relentless hunter she unwittingly unleashed. The worst he had become as a human - morose, evil, hung on power over her, victorious without regard, with so little consideration for her, so little sympathy… that he had been in the past months.

That was not who he really was. He cared. He cared deeply. Wasn't he, just like her, fighting for self-preservation, only he was more successful at it? And he was going to tell her that now. He was going to prostrate himself before her, stay on his knees forever, tell her everything and then beg her forgiveness, tell her how he loved her with total vulnerability. How he loved her. He was going to change. His conscience plagued him ruthlessly in the last week, and tonight, tonight he knew, he was going to change everything, make it up to her in a thousand ways if it would persuade her to forgive him such an unspeakable wrong he had done her.

He felt little fulfillment - not in his heart, his senses, his soul. In the beginning her submission, her total subjugation in the force of his sexual dominance was what pleasured him most. Then slowly, reluctantly that feeling changed. He realised how intensely he began to crave fulfillment. Deep inside he knew that that was what was bothering Kathryn, though she'd never speak a word of it. Theirs was a partnership gone toxic, one in which every good sense - honour, decorum, friendship, compassion, consideration, trust - eroded, leaving only a debris of rust. _He_ tarnished what they could have had. He alone.

That was why he'd decided to come to her quarters. During the day they played an elaborate game of deception in front of their crew. At night they were lovers in a duel that he knew, Kathryn couldn't win. It was wearing Kathryn down. It was, he admitted with pained remorse, wearing him down. How long could he have kept it up, this contest, this uneven battle of domination over mind and body? How long?

No longer.

*****

It was quiet. In the darkness he could only discern the muted illumination from Kathryn's vidcom. He stepped further into the lounge area. Then he heard footsteps in her bedroom.

"Kathryn?" he called softly.

No answer. He walked into her bedroom.

Kathryn?"

In the two or three seconds before he reacted Chakotay knew the scene before him would be engraved on his conscience forever.

Kathryn stood about a metre or two from her replicator. She was in uniform. Her eyes bore a look of utter despair. In her hand she held an empty long stemmed glass, her fingers lax as the flute began to slip through them.

"Kathryn!"

She looked at him through glazed eyes, her lips moving.

"No more, Chakotay… No more…" she murmured as she collapsed in his arms, the empty glass crashing to the floor..

Every contemplation Chakotay had, every resolution of amends he had had in the past hours up to that moment suddenly, mercilessly found their way from his brain and settled in his eyes as scalding tears. Yet he remained oblivious of them as he dived forward to catch Kathryn as she collapsed in his arms. Swiftly he carried her to her bed where he lay her down very gently, his hand caressing her tear-stained cheek before he hit his commbadge and hailed the EMH.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

"Doc, the Captain has taken ill. She drank something. Beam her directly to sickbay!"

Chakotay looked at the woman on the bed where she was tossing restlessly.

"No more…" she pleaded. "I cannot…no more…please…"

"Hush, my love," he whispered as Kathryn began to dematerialise.

Filled with deep shock, unable to grasp what he had seen moments ago, Chakotay left Kathryn's quarters and headed for deck five as swiftly as he could. He tried feeling anger, disappointment at what Kathryn had done, but his own guilt conquered his rage, left him powerless to banish the look of total despair in her eyes, the anguish in her voice.

He brushed aside curious stares, realising he was dressed in his Maquis gear.

By the time he reached the medical bay, he was out of breath. He strode purposefully to the biobed, absently noting a crewman lying on the adjacent bed and another sitting up on the third bed. The EMH was just about to apply a hypospray against Kathryn's neck.

"Doctor, get rid of these patients. I wish to be alone with you and the Captain," he barked.

"But, Commander - "

"Do it!"

Five minutes later the flustered crewmen were gone, having been assured that they were restored to health. Chakotay glared at the EMH.

"Now, Doctor, what did the captain ingest?" Chakotay looked at Kathryn's pale face, so sad and aloof even in her unconscious state. His heart bled for her and his remorse increased a thousand-fold.

"Commander, it's not poison, if that's what you're thinking. It's a benzodiazepine that the Captain has mixed with another barbiturate to induce sleepiness, amongst other things. Did you know the captain has been suffering from insomnia, Commander?"

To his shame Chakotay admitted that he didn't know. Why would it be a surprise? Kathryn had been in his bed every night for months barring the short menstrual reprieves. He hadn't given her time to sleep. She had dark shadows under her eyes lately. He hadn't given it a thought…

"She's sleeping right now, although I must add that the drug may induce hallucinations and other side effects…" the doctor remarked.

"What kind of side effects?"

"I've neutralised most of the cocktail the captain drank, but she's a scientist, Commander. She put together a very potent concoction. She may be asleep for at least another twenty four hours before it wears off. Until then…" 

The doctor sigh heavily, looking at Chakotay with accusing eyes.

"What will happen?"

"She will require constant vigil, Commander. The drug contains a hallucinogen which could induce sleepwalking, extreme restlessness, delirium - perceptual deficits, altered sleep-wake cycle, psychotic features such as hallucinations and delusions. Need I say more?"

"No. I'll stay with her, Doctor."

"I'm no counsellor, but I'm curious as to why the captain would take - "

"Leave the 'why' to me. Captain Janeway will be back on duty in forty eight hours. Now, Doctor, beam us directly to the captain's quarters."

"But Captain Janeway needs medical - "

Chakotay stroked Kathryn's cheek again. Her best form of recuperation would be in her own quarters away from prying eyes and well-meaning enquiries. He wasn't about to lose his cool with the doctor so he walked to the console and initiated a beam-out for a site to site transport, walked back to the biobed and lifted Kathryn into his arms.

"Commander, you cannot - " were the last words Chakotay heard as he and Kathryn were beamed to her quarters.

*****

He could stand holding her forever so close in his arms, but she needed to be in her bed, so he lay her down very gently. The moment he tried to remove her uniform, Kathryn stirred, tossing her head restlessly. Her eyes flew momentarily open, with a wild look in them.

"No, please… I cannot…"

"Hush… It's alright. I want to make you comfortable. I won't hurt you, Kathryn."

The wild look turned gradually to resignation. He groaned as he realised how afraid she was.

"You must hate me," she whispered before her eyes closed again.

"Oh, spirits, Kathryn!" he cried out. "I can never hate you. Never…"

So he undressed her, found a nightgown. After he pulled the covers over her, he propped the pillows to make her more comfortable. She gave a sigh before she drifted off into a deep slumber.

Perhaps the doctor had been wrong after all, Chakotay thought as he looked at the sleeping Kathryn. She looked peaceful in her sleep. The symptoms might not rear their heads. A silence hung in the room. He'd told the doctor Kathryn would be on duty in another forty eight hours. So he hailed Tuvok, told him to meet him in the captain's ready room. He hadn't wanted to leave Kathryn, but he had to make arrangements for bridge duty. Kathryn would sleep deeply for at least an hour, enough time he needed to confer with the Chief of Security.

In the ready room he told Tuvok that the captain was indisposed. Tuvok raised an eyebrow and nodded solemnly. Chakotay then made arrangements for all other crew shifts before he returned in great haste to Kathryn's bedroom. He'd forgotten he was still in Maquis gear when he realised how crew were staring at him. When he sat down heavily on the bed next to Kathryn, she opened her eyes sluggishly.

"Where am I?" she asked, the words slurring.

"In your own quarters, your own bed. I won't hurt you, Kathryn. I swear."

"So tired…"

"Then sleep, my love. Sleep…"

She gave a deep moan before drifting off to sleep again. He sighed, his heart lifting when Kathryn's hand moved to seek his. She turned on her side. Chakotay bent down to kiss her gently against her forehead, pushing stray hairs away as he straightened up again. He gazed at the sleeping woman, filled with intense regret at the way he'd treated her, the guilt slicing through him when she'd cowered away from him while he changed her into comfortable sleepwear. Her fingers became slack in his hand, yet he remained stroking them gently.

He didn't want to leave her. He wanted to remain by her side until the effects of the drug had worn off completely. Thinking what to do with his time while Kathryn lay sleeping, he remembered her once mentioning some book titles that were her favourites. That had been during Alpha shift, on the bridge where they could pretend to be friends, colleagues, master and commander. He tried shrugging off the guilt again that their nights were occupied doing one thing only - sex. No talking, no conversation afterwards, no discovery of likes, dislikes, interests and hobbies.

While he was contemplating replicating a book, Kathryn woke again, turning to look at him.

"What is it, Kathryn? Can I get you anything?"

"You took everything from me and gave nothing…nothing…" she whispered sadly.

He blanched at her words. "I know," he said, "and I am deeply sorry for my behaviour."

"I was a toy…slave…" she murmured before turning her head again, already asleep before Chakotay could respond.

The hours passed, and Chakotay wished that he had listened to the EMH. He kept awake by sheer force of will although he could feel the tiredness creeping into his bones. Kathryn woke from time to time and in her waking moments railed at him with heated, sunken eyes. Then she'd suddenly slump back against the pillows and stare silently at him. During one of those periods she spoke.

"My mother and my father had a renewal of their vows in the Academy chapel." Then she took the framed photograph and shoved it in his face. "Didn't your parents have one too?"

He didn't know if they had one. He hadn't seen his parents in years and when he could visit them for the first time, it had been too late. The Cardassians had destroyed his homeworld. His parents died before he could ask their forgiveness for being so contrary.

"No, I don't know if they had."

"Maybe that's why you wanted me only for what you could take from my body. You have no…honour…"

"In the beginning, God help me, Kathryn, that may have been true. But I - "

"You could never love me, not in the way my parents loved one another. They had respect and loyalty, you hear me? You heartless mongrel!"

"Kathryn, please…"

"Who's pleading now? You don't have the balls to be faithful, or heaven forbid, _love me_."

"I do love you…"

Kathryn sat up suddenly, pulled his shirt front and penned him with bloodshot, burning eyes.

"I negotiated and lost….lost. You knew you had me over a barrel… The safety of my crew, my ship, guarantee of a journey home for everyone. You gave me your crew. I gave you my body."

"Spirits, Kathryn!"

"I cannot forget the way I bartered for my ship…"

He could only pull her closer, in which instance she fought him desperately, pummeling his chest before she collapsed against the pillows, suddenly drained. Then she dropped into an uneasy slumber. Although the doctor warned him, the force of her distraught accusations floored him.

Later she would wake, lethargic in her movements as she tried to sit up.

"Bathroom…"

He'd help her to the bathroom, wait until she finished before he simply lifted her in his arms and tucked her in again.

"I'm not sorry," she said, glaring mutinously at him.

"You shouldn't be. You have every right to accuse me. Please, you need rest."

"Why did you come to my quarters tonight? Were you afraid I wouldn't turn up in yours and be your little fuck slave?"

Chakotay closed his eyes. He had it coming. But her words gave him an opening, the opportunity to tell her of his change of heart.

"No, Kathryn. I came to ask your forgiveness."

"Forgiveness? So you can go away from here and feel good that you did so?"

"No, and you know it. I feel rotten the way I've treated you. I - I love you."

Kathryn looked at him for a few burning seconds then she burst out laughing. It was not a joyful laugh in the knowledge that at last her feelings were returned. It was a disbelieving screech that pierced the silence in the room. She laughed until there were tears in her eyes. It seemed she couldn't stop as she threw her head back and continued laughing. In desperation Chakotay slapped her face. She stopped suddenly. A red weal began to form on her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Kathryn. It was the only way - "

"You bastard," she hissed as she slumped against the pillows. "You did what you did because you _love_ me? What are you capable of if you should hate me? Maybe you do hate me…" she said tiredly, her fingers reaching to touch the fabric of the sleeveless jacket. His hand covered hers, swamping him with relief that she didn't pull her hand away. "Do you know what it is like to love," she murmured, "to give everything without reciprocation?"

She was already sleeping again, yet he whispered, "I know now…and you cannot know how sorry I am…"

The hours dragged on slowly.

Sometimes Kathryn woke, glaring at him and demanding that he leave her quarters. He'd refuse, only to have her furiously thrust the covers aside and slide off the bed. She'd take anything, even the framed photograph of her parents and hurl it at him. He knew it was the effects of the drugs on her body and her mind, yet, achingly, there was truth in her indictment against him. He fended off the projectiles as best he could, but at one point had been unable to prevent the PADD that had been lying on her bedstand, from hitting him in the face.

She'd repeat her demands, her eyes wild. Then she'd rattle off complex mathematical equations, stopping abruptly to ask him if he understood what she said. Sometimes during the night she fought him physically. He had no option but to keep her pinned to the bed, his hands gripping the sides of her head, his body bracing her until she became calm again. It was like pinning down a writhing snake and waiting until it became still.  Then her eyes closed as suddenly as they opened.

At other times she'd stir in her sleep, slowly opening her eyes. When she'd asked where she was, he'd patiently tell her that she was in her own bed, her own quarters, she needn't be afraid. Then the guilt swamped him again, because most nights she had spent in his quarters, his bed.

In the early morning she fell into a deep slumber. Bleary eyed he looked at the chronometer. It was 0600. Kathryn had been asleep for an hour. He'd finally managed to replicate a copy of _La Vita Nuova_ the moment he remembered the title she'd mentioned weeks ago on the bridge. He read aloud through the first pages, understanding Kathryn's enthusiasm about Dante's great work. The words fell from his lips - words of love, of devotion, of everlasting loyalty, of parting, of death, of grief. They were written in beautiful cadences - rhythmic, pure lines that must have made many wonder, he supposed, how such beauty could have been composed in the thirteenth century.

So engrossed was he that he never noticed Kathryn's eyes opening. Only when her voice joined his, did he realise that she'd woken up. He stopped reading and looked at her. Her eyes were mercifully clear, sober, though incredibly tired. She looked directly at him but remained silent. The strap of her nightgown had slid off her shoulder. Her hair clung in long tresses to her neck. He wanted to touch her, but decided against it. He placed the book on the bedstand and straightened up again.

"Hey…"

"Why are you still here?" she asked softly.

"I…" he began slowly, struggling for the right words, "am not your enemy. No longer." His mouth felt dry, as if he'd swallowed sand.

"Give me back my body…my ship, Chakotay," she began with sunken eyes, though the pleading tone of the previous night was gone.

"You have it, Kathryn. Everything the way it should have been from the start. I promise. No ultimatums, no games, no submission," he vowed softly, his throat thick as the words tumbled from his lips.

"I…that potion I drank…last night…"

"The EMH told me you suffered insomnia."

"He was lying. Surely you know that? I wanted to escape, maybe just one night. It was difficult, you understand? To continue with - with such emptiness."

"Believe me, I understand, Kathryn. It was realising how empty it all was that I… Kathryn, I want you to know…I became something that was not my nature… I am so very sorry…"

"I want to understand you acted out of character, Chakotay. It will take time…"

It gratified him to see her eyes no longer so full of anger, that there seemed to be a new softness in them, the fear dispelled. As exhausted as she looked, he was still struck by her beauty, stilled almost afraid to admit to the power she had over him. He took a deep breath and caressed her cheek. She didn't turn her face away from him at the touch. When he spoke, it surprised him that his voice felt so weak, so hoarse. The admission of his fear flashed painfully through his body.

"Forgive me, my beloved. You were right from the beginning. I fought without honour and I am not proud of it. I loved you the moment I saw you on my viewscreen. Even then I knew you would conquer me…"

"You were afraid? Of me?" she asked incredulously. "Chakotay, I am not your enemy," she repeated his words of earlier. "I needed you right beside me. From the start I knew that I needed you. I needed your crew. I was filled by all that you had sacrificed to keep this ship afloat. Then you turned my days into nights…blurred by my entreaties for kind words." Kathryn gave a deep sob.

Overcome by her words, overcome with remorse, his heart overflowing, Chakotay pulled her up and into his embrace, holding her close against him while she sobbed. It was over, he realised with wonder as he cradled her head against him, pressing his lips against her hair. It was over.

Later she lay, gazing at him, her eyes drooping again.

"I never asked…why you came to my quarters…" she said softly, her gentle smile hitting him like a hammer in the chest.

"To beg your forgiveness. To prostrate myself before you and declare my love. To tell you your nights belong to you from now on."

Kathryn was quiet a very long time. When her eyes closed, she murmured, "Thank you…"

*** 

**Three months later…**

They had taken to sharing breakfast at 0630 in the mess hall every morning. To Kathryn it was a good way to start the day after that fateful night when she'd been drowning in despair to escape the bonds in which Chakotay had imprisoned her.

He was a different man, she thought reflectively as her eyes penned his over her cup of coffee. It wasn't that he'd changed. In that he had been right. What he had become the moment they met, was what he'd changed into. He was every inch the noble warrior, she discovered over the last three months. They had not made love again. In retrospect she felt it was good. She needed to slowly purge the stranglehold of submission to him. She needed to see him during their daily contact not as the vile hunter but as a genuine friend without the baggage which had existed between them. It had hovered in her subconscious mind for weeks following that night. Yet gradually that image of the hunter bent on her surrender began to dissipate. Before her eyes the honourable man she had always instinctively yearned for him to be began to emerge, to establish himself as once again, someone she could like and continue to love.

He had refrained from touching her. It pleased her for she had time now to feast on his goodness, to enjoy and appreciate the new and thrilling dimension to their relationship - friendship. She never thought they could ever be friends. Now everything has changed. They learned much about each other - things they had never had time or inclination before. She learned how he loved to read too, how he loved to write his thoughts on paper - fine papyrus from Egypt. He had given her a little scroll on which he had penned in the finest hand, his sorrow at hurting her.

She learned how he too, had been afraid of submission, by their very association on Voyager. She'd managed to dispel that in the last months, assuring him that they were in a unique situation in which they were going to break many rules. Fraternisation was what she couldn't prevent. Their journey was seventy five years long. They'd grow old just trying to devise short cuts home.

This morning Chakotay was extra quiet. He'd been like that for several days now.

"Something bothering you?" she asked as she put her cup down.

"My behaviour towards you - "

She leaned forward and touched his hand. "Chakotay, honey, it's over. Over, you understand?"

He looked at her for long, heavy moments, then nodded silently.

"I have an idea," she started, smiling at him.

"Kathryn, when you have an idea, I know I'm going to be dragged along. What is it this time?" His eyes shone at hearing her endearment.

"You're invited to the holodeck tonight. 2100. A recreation of my home in Indiana. I thought the first time we made love again, it be in my bedroom at home…"

"Kathryn…? You're sure?"

He looked so dolefully excited that her heart almost broke again.

"Very much so, Commander. You're coming?"

He rose from his chair too as she got up, hooked his arm through hers, looked deeply into her eyes and said, "How can I refuse an offer made in heaven?"

***** 

END

 

 

 

 

 

 


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